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Oh, Ben, she said, oh, Ben.” Within the field, the only notable attempts at examination of war-directed forces at work in our own culture have been those of Mack Reynolds and John Brunner. But from points all around the perimeter recently, there has come a steady peppering of fantasy, parable, and allegory, turning an analytic (and usually sardonic) eye on the behavior of nations—especially our own—and the wondrous workings of what we still oddly call diplomacy. (Tom Lehrers “Send the Marines”: . . .For might makes right./Until they’ve seen the light,/They’ve got to be protected,/All their rights respected,/Till someone welike is elected . . . And then there was Dean Acheson’s parable “The Fairy Princess” in theReporter. And of course Abram Tertz’sThe Makepeace Experiment from Pantheon.)* * * * This guy Hest, Paul continued, raised his eyebrows, picked up the reports as if theyd dirty his hands, flicked through them to find my dozens of mistakes at a glance. Then he went back over them—slowly. Finally, after about ten minutes, he laid them down on his desk. Well, Mr. Tyler,’ he said in that nasty voice of his. ‘What happened to you? Come down with an attack of intelligence?’ Mrs. Klevity, My voice scared me in the silence, but I was feeling the same sort of upsurge that catches you sometimes when youre playing-like and it gets so real. Mrs. Klevity, if you’ve lost something, maybe I could look for it for you.” Oh? Mr. Clarke said,Well, if you could patent all these untried ideas, there would be a lot of crackpot patents coming out all the time. Is it really so late? We couldnt allow that, said Candron, looking at Senator Kerotski. Dr. James Ch’ien has too much of a logical, scientific mind for that. We’d have ruined him if he’d seen me in action.” "Oh, the whole world. The children have the run of everything. To set up specific playgrounds would be like setting a table-sized aquarium down in the depths of the ocean. It would really be pointless." On the day after Christmas I returned the case to the toy store. The place was full of parents and children making exchanges. One doll was being returned because she could not, as advertised, speak French; only a rather vulgar Italian. Another had been sold with the guarantee that she could make a good saucebéarnaise, but evidently it was an inferior one. In the clamor and confusion I had no difficulty in placing my own case on the counter, and walked away unnoticed. I vividly recall the expression on my daughters face at that moment and often, since then, I have tried to imagine what has happened to her. Someone, doubtless, purchased her and took her home. And doubtless the purchaser soon returned her to the store—who would want a doll who is obviously insane and keeps telling outrageous lies about some imaginary ogre? There was no danger that the calls would be suspected. Those two phones could not be contacted except from inside the Palace, and not even then unless the number was known. But let us say we calculate correctly, cross the galaxy and step from our rocket onto a sunlit world the incredible duplicate of Earth. Who, or what, will be there to greet us? Will it look human? Or will we be confronted by science-fictional creatures with multi-faceted housefly eyes and snakelike arms? Let us start with mankind and work down. Ennepers Surface. Tallis was immediately struck by the unusual planes of her face, intersecting each other like the dunes around her. When she offered him a cigarette he involuntarily held her wrist, feeling the junction between the radial and ulna bones. He followed her across the dunes. The young woman was a geometric equation, the demonstration model of a landscape. Her breasts and buttocks illustrated Ennepers surface of negative constant curve, the differential coefficient of the pseudo-sphere. Brians effects, said Ian, watching him. As Nolan disappeared along the drive, Leonora Chanel walked out into the centre of the terrace. She looked at the dark clouds surging over the mesa, and with one hand tore the jewels from her eyes. They lay winking on the tiles at her feet. Then the hunched figure of Petit Manuel leapt from his hiding place in the bandstand. He scuttled past, racing on his bent legs. "If it cannot be a public school, at least let it be a typical school," said Miss Smice..
